Last Ride of the Cavalry
by Shutterbug5269
Summary: My imagining of what happened to Agent May (played brilliantly by Ming-Na Wen) that makes her not want to be called "The Cavalry" and why she had no desire initially to ever see combat again. Taking a few liberties of artistic license.


**Last Ride of the Cavalry**

Agent Melinda May arrived on the scene, mentally and physically prepared for combat. S.H.I.E.L.D. had come to call her "The Cavalry" and the nickname had stuck and gotten around. To make a long story short, she was a "specialist." A one woman wrecking crew, sent into situations where immediate help was needed to balance the scales. When the shit hit the fan, she would ride in to save the day. Just like the mounted soldiers in a John Ford movie.

Communication had been lost with the ground team consisting of twenty two men and women (only five of which were combat trained) shortly after their emergency call went out. Jammed at the source by methods unkown. They had called for the cavalry and emergency extraction. She had been requested, if not by name, then by reputation.

She was heavily armed, and had been prepared for a hard fight. For the cries of the wounded...the sounds of battle. They had long ago become part of her working life, since earning her reputation as an agent, and making level seven. She had not, however, been prepared for complete silence. Not even the wind rustling in the trees or a bird, or even a cricket.

She had arrived to find a charnal house. Broken bodies littered the ground, left where they fell. The tactical team members draped over the positions where they had held their ground, having made their last stand to protect the science team. She had personally trained all five of them. She knew their names, had seen pictures of their spouses and children. The tech officer still clutched his sat phone, likely the last one to fall, his dead fingers holding the mic open. The fear and hopelessness of his situation still written on his features, even in death. His empty, sightless eyes staring up at her and through her as if in silent accusation.

Twenty two men and women. All of them agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., brothers and sisters in arms. Twenty two sets of empty, sightless eyes staring back at her. They had fought to the last, the science team included, expecting the cavalry to come and save them.

Only the cavalry came twenty minutes too late.

For the next two hours Melinda May silently, efficiently policed the bodies while waiting for the extraction team. One by one, she respectfully carried or dragged each body back to the L-Z. She closed each set of eyes and laid them out in six neat rows. Each body covered with the black poncho from their field pack, the S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem neatly in the center. Choking back the tears that threatened to spill over. The guilt that wracked her to her core.

When the airborne mobile command aircraft carrying the extraction team arrived on site, she was cradling her assault rifle, standing guard. The team leader was solemn as he took in the crestfallen look on her face. The quiet devastation that she could not keep out of her eyes, as she observed the bodies being loaded aboard. He offered her the spare bunk on the command deck, but she refused.

Instead, she rode in a jump seat on the cargo deck with the bodies. She owed them that.

The bodies of the dead agents were her responsibility now. A responsibility she had taken upon herself when she failed to save their lives. Their families would never know what their mission was, what these men and women died for. (it was classified, level 8) Neither would she, only that they were dead because of her, because _she_ had failed them. She would see them all safely home. Accompany each and every black shrouded metal coffin to its final destination. Either to their families or to "the Hub's" crematorium. It would be her final act as "the Cavàlry."

Their eyes that would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life. She would see their contorted faces, twenty two sets of blank, sightless, empty eyes, every time she closed her own until death finally claimed her.

She had failed them. She had failed them all. They had called for the cavalry to come and save them. They had depended on _her_ to come for them. Gambled their lives and held their ground because they had fully expected her to ride in like an avenging angel and save the day. That she would save them.

Never again.

She was _not_ the cavalry, not anymore. Not ever again. She would never again allow others to depend on her so much that they gambled their lives on her. The price of failure was far too high.

She was done.


End file.
